Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Pouring acetone down my throat, maybe this will stop the pain.
Maybe if I slit my wrists, I won't have to see you every single day.
Maybe if I swallow those pills, a few too many, I won't ache inside everytime I hear your name.
Maybe if I pull the trigger, just maybe, you'll want me again.

The way I want you.
That's all I ask for.

I'm such a fucking stereotypical angsty teenager.
I hate it.

No comments:

Post a Comment